Fractured
by DearSweetPapercut
Summary: Everyone has a story. And sometimes the people who do the most horrific things have the most terrible stories to tell. A look at some of the most notorious CSI 'bad guys' over the last 13 years.
1. Basderic

Everyone has a story. And sometimes the people who do the most horrific things have the most terrible stories to tell.

I thought it would be interesting to take a look at the most notorious 'bad guys' and attempt to tell their stories- how they ended up in Las Vegas.

I'm kicking off with Ronald Basderic since he's someone fresh in my mind, I've done a lot of research about the development of stalking behaviours and obsessive compulsive disorder in order to write this so hopefully it'll be slightly insightful.

I hope you all enjoy reading it or at least find it interesting- please leave a review let me know what you think or if there are any particular people you'll like me to write a character study of.

With deadlines and dissertation work and the amount of time it takes to research I'm not sure how

Again- please review!

**Fractured**

**(1) **

**Ronald Basderic **

The rain fell softly across the road, the tarmac glistening in the dim lightening of the night as the sound of his footsteps echoed in the air like sirens. He'd never liked the rain. The way it settled on his clothes, the smell of dusty gravel clinging to his pores even when he was somewhere dry. It had always made him uncomfortable.

It reminded him of that day. If he focused hard enough he could still smell the dirt that had been displaced from the grave under his breath. He could still see the pit into which his mother's casket had been lowered. Loved ones that he barely recognised clutching hold of his hand as he stood on the edge. At the age of seven that pit had seemed to go on forever.

There had been nights where he had woken shaking from the nightmares of falling into the darkness without there being an ending. Just...going...on and on into the abyss watching life pass by without being able to do anything to stop it.

Shivers flooded his body as he found himself looking into the darkened pool of a puddle over taking the pavement the memory of the mahogany in the darkness of the ditch at the forefront of his mind. With a laboured breath he studied the cracks in the pavement closing his eyes as he stepped over one side his feet unevenly hitting the ground the thought making his body shudder.

He would have to carefully count the steps coming up- the numbers needed to be even when he reached her house.

It was a Tuesday, she would getting home late from work, he had plenty of time- he knew that but still for some reason he couldn't help but speed up as he made it on to her road. The clearly labelled street sign sending electric shocks through his body as he carefully placed each step to his destination reaching the street lamp from where he watched her.

All of the lights in her house were off but over the past few weeks he had learnt that it didn't necessarily mean that she wasn't there. He'd learnt many things in the time he'd been watching. The way she channel flicked during the adverts, the way she would pace while she was on the phone, and the way she would nervously look out the window for him.

But there were no shadows moving inside the darkness; all he could do was, wait.

He took a deep breath of night air, pressing his eyes closed savouring the calm that surrounded him in that moment. There was the steady flow of traffic tinkering somewhere in the distance, the clouds rolling by without a sound with nothing but darkness and anticipation embracing him.

Basderic found himself thinking of the first time he had waited for someone like this but that had all been so different. She hadn't known he'd been watching her. She had always looked upon him with affection eyes and in the end she shaped him without realising.

Georgia Brooks. She'd lived next door to him a long time ago; a shapely woman, with a beautiful smile and sweet Southern drawl. He could recall seeing her over the garden fence as she worked on the vegetables or flowers that she had decided to grow that season.

She always called him Ronnie. The only other person that had called him Ronnie had been his mother. Sometimes Georgia would see him and invite him in for biscuits and hot chocolate. She would pull herself up dusting down her dress with a smile. The dirt charring her legs made his skin crawl as he attempted to retain a laid back composure.

He had found himself in awe of her and all he wanted was for her to like him. She would move around the kitchen as gracefully as his mother had done. She was kind to him, unlike everyone else, who simply just pitied him.

"Call me Georgia" She had insisted when he'd thank her on the way out, swooping down to press a kiss on his cheek, her inky black hair always smelt of exotic fruit. And as Ronald began to pace, his eyes focused on his feet he could almost recall the velvety notes of her voice close to his ear as the sweetness of her perfume intoxicated him.

She leant him her books, these books had changed him, he'd found himself being pulled into the world of literature. And when at University unlike so many other students he enjoyed the lessons and the learning. Ronald couldn't help but smile knowing that Georgia was the reason that he was now doing his PhD in English Literature.

And she had let him watching television with her on the days the weather was bad outside. It was almost as if she had forgotten he was a nine year old boy. Looking back now he could see that it was a cry of loneliness. She was in a town away from home, with a husband too busy to pay her attention and no children of her own.

It had never bothered him- he had always enjoyed her company. It was far better than being trapped in a house with his father's depression. Whiskey had been his only solace after his wife's death, everything else had fallen by the wayside. It was as if they were living with a ghost. He had distanced himself from his son noting that he reminded him of his wife. He had the same clear blue eyes that seem to always ask for answers.

So instead Ronald sought the affection that he so clearly craved from Georgia.

It had simply started by spending days playing in the garden hoping that she would be there to offer him some company. He could barely remember how it had escalated or gotten as far as it had done.

He would hover by the house watching her through the windows, the way she would sing along to the radio as she cooked dinner or the way she rested her feet against the coffee table stretching out while she watched television.

More than a few times he had seen her cry. He would have seen her sitting at the kitchen counter with a bottle of wine that would slowly disappear and a handgun resting by her side. He'd asked her if she was happy. And all she had done was look at him and smile, but not her bright 'everything's wonderful' smile. It was a sad smile as she acknowledged his question.

"No one's really happy Ronnie..." She's said softly in the accent that had captivated him, touching his cheek. "Not really"

"I am" He'd replied, looking into her bright brown eyes. "I'm happy when I'm with you"

Georgia had just looked at him wondering what he could know, a boy of ten, about happiness. She'd just kissed him on the forehead and passed him another freshly baked scone.

But the day of his accident had changed everything; he'd climbed the tree on the opposite side of the street hoping for an adventure. The bark digging into his palms as he carefully placed his feet climbing higher and higher until he thought he was going to reach the place everyone told him his mother had gone to. But he had to stop settling down on a branch breathing heavily.

Through the leaves he'd seen her; she was sprawled out on the bed, her husband's body over hers as she screamed out in what he assumed was pain as she was being pressed into the mattress beneath her. He found himself frozen to the spot, not knowing what to do as all he could do was watch.

He felt a burning sensation settling in his stomach, something so unfamiliar to him and yet something that would become an almost constant companion in his life. Jealousy made his eyes fix on the strange dance she was performing with this man and anger began to rush through his system. Georgia shouldn't be with someone else; she shouldn't be wrapping her arms around him or pressing her lips on his. Ronald felt the possessive feeling grip his soul as his grip on the branch of the tree tightened until his knuckles grew white and the bark bit into his palm.

Looking back on it now Ronald couldn't remember how he had miss placed his foot, how he'd fallen but the sight of the world as he hurled towards it refused to disappear every time he looked down at the ground. The pain had been so intense that there was nothing but blinding lights.

His father couldn't cope. And now everyone knew. The sight of the poor boy in the wheel chair, struggling with the crutches, having to stay inside convinced them that he was not fit to be a father.

And so he was taken away- away from his home, from Georgia- he was sent to live with his grandparents, then uncles and aunts.

His heart was in his throat as he was dragged back to reality by the sound of a car stopping just a stone throws away. The engine being killed as the locks clicked, two people appearing in the darkness. He could feel his chest tighten as each breath became laboured his hands curled into fists as he came into view.

This other man didn't love her as much as he did. Just like Georgia's husband. He never really loved her. He'd been giving it to someone else. He left her and in the end what was Georgia left with but a broken heart?

Ronald had gone back when he had been old enough to take the bus across the country by himself. She lived in the same house, she still liked to garden. The first time he had seen her she was standing watching the garden a cigarette at her lips. Her bright eyes and warm smile barely present but; still she called him Ronnie and she invited him in for hot chocolate and biscuits.

As he watched the young woman before him he knew she would be left with a broken heart- just like Georgia- and a wave of emotion of wanting to protect washed over him.

They all came easy after that. They would smile him, they would talk to him, and they would all remind him of her, of Georgia.

With his thoughts swimming around his mind like impulses he took the first step onto the road barely looking around for cars his eyes focused on her. Fear flashed in her eyes as she saw him approaching her.

"Get away from here now" He growled turning to face Ronald as he stood awkwardly in the middle of the road. But all he could do was smile. From where he was standing he could smell her perfume, and if focused enough he could ignore than man shouting at him.

Before he had a chance to gather his bearing a fist had collided with the side of his face, his head spinning as he attempted to keep his eyes focused. The world became a blur around him and like he had done so many years ago his gaze found the gravel as he fell against it. Another sharp blow knocked the air out of his lungs as he struggled to breathe.

As Ronald's eyes focused on the sky his fingers closed around the gun at his side, and as another blow hit him he pointed the weapon towards his assailant squeezing the trigger before he had a chance to stop himself. The gun shot rang throughout the silence and it was as if the world had stopped.

As everything passed in a haze the dirt and rainwater from the ground seemed to be burning his skin as he found himself feeling lost. He needed to leave.

He needed to escape to start over.


	2. Haskell

Thank you to those of you reading this- I hope you find this one somewhat interesting- please review- let me know what you think!

This one actually look me some time to get my head around, I did research into Narcissistic Personality Disorder amongst other things- I hope they come through in the writing :/

Reference to '19 Down' of how Haskell had been caught.

**Fractured**

**(2)**

**Nate Haskell**

The neon lights surrounded him, the buzz of the people on the streets refusing to fade away as Las Vegas transitioned from day to night. The city of sin; the perfect place for him, he could be out in the open here. People would barely bat an eye as he appeared enjoying the small treats that lined the streets, watching the lights shows and the window displays; but not for long.

Soon enough everyone would know him, know what he had done, but until then he took a deep breath of polluted air and enjoyed the anonymity.

With a wary sigh he straightened out his scarf the silk hiding the scratch marks that his last victim had left behind; the plastic, pink nails had caught his skin before he'd had a chance to stop them. He made his way into one of the many lit up diners on the strip. The heavy smell of coffee filling the air as he sat himself at the counter his fingers running over the sticky surface, the graduals of sugar, lingering on his skin as he found himself intently studying marble.

"What can I get you?" A young waitress stood before him, her hand firmly on her hip displaying her lack of patience; the wear of the day clear on her skin and tired eyes.

"Can I get a slice of apple pie and a cup of warm milk" He asked with his best impression of a smile; studying her form taking in the small details of her being. Looking at all of the things that made her who she was; the chipped nail polish speaking of the little time she had, the tattoo peeking out from her uniform telling a story of her life without intending to and the thing that he couldn't ignore the lingering disappointment in her dark gaze.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment as she wrote down his order before simply just throwing a nod in his direction and turning to get to work. She returned placing a plate a glass in front of him with a small smile before moving to serve another customer, his stare never leaving her.

The thick, warm apple spilling onto the plate from the crisp pastry, he could almost taste the sweetness of it before he had taken the first forkful. He could remember the early years of childhood, coming in from the garden on the weekends to the smell of apple pie. Those days were short lived. His mother's attempts at hiding and protecting him from his father's brutality were in vain.

She must have known. She must have seen it coming from a mile off how their lives would go, all of the things that would happen. Perhaps she had cradled her baby in her arms looking down at his blue eyes knowing that one day he would just be another quivering wreck in their house.

The day she had died he'd heard her screams, the sound of her body being thrown about the room like a rag doll and realised he couldn't do anything, that, he didn't feel anything. He had no control in that situation and he partially blamed this on his mother for not giving him up, for bringing him into the world he knew.

For some years he had attempted to understand his father's anger, his need to lash out at every opportunity but it soon became clear to him that there was no point in trying to do that. The triggers were far too common to map out and avoid.

A part of him wondered if he would have been different had he grown up elsewhere- but what was the point of thinking about such things. He was a monster (as some would say). And that was not going to change.

It was the sound of plates clattering to the floor that forced him to face the reality of his situation. The young waitress looked flustered as she quickly picked up the shards of broken plates throwing them away as quickly as she could willing everyone to stop watching her.

He wondered what she was like outside of work, what she did in her spare time, what TV shows she watched, what she liked to drink. A ring glittered on her left hand, a simple gold band with a diamond nothing too fancy but it was a window, an insight. She was in love, or at least had convinced herself to be. A man out there had bought her that ring as a sign of commitment. It was the only piece of jewellery she was wearing; it was important.

"You have a pretty name" He said with a sly smile as she began pacing looking for something to do; 'Anna-Maria' her name tag read.

"Thank you" She said with a small smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, leaning back against the counter.

He imagined what it would be like to take that name tag away from her, to make her just into someone else, just another name on his list. She was pretty, most likely vain, they all were in the end.

It was the sound of the bell above the door drinking that changed her composure. She stood up straight, her hands running over the thin cotton material of her dress, a smile tugging at her lips. He turned just in time to see the man making his way through the door, a bunch of flowers cradled in his arms. She rushed towards him, not being able to hide the quick pace of her step as she did so, casually falling into his embrace.

They were perfect. They were what he would spend his nights looking for. They would have been easy to control.

The thought rousing him from his seat; there was somewhere he needed to be. Finding his wallet in his trouser pocket he placed the money down on the counter before disappearing back onto the busy streets.

He made his way towards his car casually strolling through the parking lot as if he were like any other person there, in the city on business. Settling into the diver's seat he couldn't help but pause and think about the journey ahead. The drive from Las Vegas to Phoenix was not an interesting one, there was nothing much to see on the way and his reasons for going were purely practical.

With a wary sigh he pulled his seat belt on navigating the car out of the darkened third floor onto the streets and into the traffic. He, for one, enjoyed traffic jams, they gave him time to think, to plan, to play back memories and recall the gratification he had felt at the time.

He had most certainly taken back that control- he was no longer helpless- there was no on there that could call him weak.

The dessert stretched out for miles around him, dirt, dust and golden sands, surrounding him as he drove further away from civilization. He was getting closer. There was no one around for miles the perfect spot would call out him, he knew that, but still there was anticipation. His hand gripped his steering wheel tighter and suddenly it was as if the sound of the radio wasn't loud enough.

Making a turn his car rolled easily from the smooth tarmac of the road onto the uneven surface of the dirt as he slowly made his way further out to a point almost impossible to see from the road, sheltered by stone. He climbed out of the car, taking a deep breath. He couldn't help but smile at his surroundings at the vastness of the world he had found himself in.

There was no need to rush, there was no one around. He could enjoy the warmth of the sun on his skin, the clarity of the sky above him.

It was as if the world around him had slowed down, waiting for him to finish the task he had set out to do. The click of the lock made him smile slightly as the boot of the car easily opened, the body of a man curled up in the small space covered and surrounded by plastic.

He dragged it out of the car, a loud thud appearing in the air as it hit the ground laying sprawled out on the sand. With a satisfied sigh he looked at the body removing the plastic placing it back inside the boot. Taking the knife out of his pocket he looked down at the way the metal glinted in the bright light. It was also as if he could see the blood of the victims that had stained the blade before; a trophy of sorts.

Each stab seemed to send shivers all over his body; the feel of the grip pressed against his palm, as the blade sank into the body. It was art. The way it looked laid out at his food as proof of his superiority.

He'd won.

He'd taken someone's life from the, he'd convinced them they might survive that perhaps one day they would get the chance to grow old, to experience all the things they had imagined when they were younger and then he had taken it all away. He had reminded them how meaningless their existences were.

Drinking in the small details of that moment he returned to his car, making all the adjustments he needed to before driving on as if there was nothing wrong. He couldn't help but smile as his car once against found the smooth surface of the road.

The rest of the drive was dull, nothing but vast desert landscape passing by the windows as he moved closer towards Phoenix. It was not a city he cared for. Then again he cared for very few places. He had never found home. And as he wandered amongst crowds he realised that perhaps he would never have a home, he would never be at peace.

Like every other city Phoenix had traffic and pollution that seemed to affect the streets as it sprawled out across. The sweltering heat was something he had learnt to deal with, it was just another consequence of his 'lifestyle'. However he liked the rain, the humid thick airs of July and August that brought with it breaks in clouds as they came tumbling down.

He checked into a hotel, his exhausted body immediately collapsing and without another thought he fell into the black hold of sleep his mind shutting off completely. Some nights he would ponder what people would think- how they would ask him how he could sleep after having committed such horrific act. But it occurred to him that doing such things were the very reason he found himself being able to sleep at all.

The morning flooded through the windows and it was just another day- time to go home, to start again; another act of conviction.

Once he was dressed and ready he headed to one of the many dive bars in the city, toasting to himself for another success. Waiting until afternoon appeared across the Arizona sky before climbing into his car.

The dizziness of the whiskey didn't stop him, driving through the desert as the sun set over him, darkness falling into the sky. He was feeling confident, pressing his foot down against the accelerator it was the sound of the police sirens that forced it all to come crashing down.

He slowed, bringing the car to a stop forcing his breath to even out. A cop approached his car, a frown painting his features as he studied something on the side of the car, his flashlight dancing across the paintwork.

"Can you step out of the car please sir" His words were firm lingering in the air until he followed the instructions, from the look in the officers eye he knew it.

This was it.


	3. Ellen

I'm sorry this is less than half the length of the others but I really couldn't get into Ellen's mind- I think she was naive in some ways but that her delusions completely clouded her judgment about almost everything she had done.

I sensed that she was a romantic and that despite the crazy she had actually fallen in love with our Gregory.

Again- sorry for being slow and for this being short but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

**Fractured**

**(3)**

**Ellen Whitebridge**

She had always loved fairy tales; the images of saviours, damsels and true, untainted romance. She'd kept a collection of books under her bed. All beautifully printed and perfectly kept; she would read them on bad days and as she got older through heartbreaks. The stories would remind her that there were happy endings out there- she just needed to wait.

She had to wait for the right man to sweep her off her feet and it would alright. It would like those old movies; they would be so dramatically in love just like her grandparents had been. But that love story had come to a tragic end as she had found out when she had been old enough to understand. But in the end this was real life not the books she kept under her bed.

Her life was no movie. But still somehow she found herself holding out the hope that perhaps one day it would all fall into place. Perhaps it was what all women truly wished for. Things had changed since the time it had been okay to admit that all you wanted was to settle down. Now there were so much pressures and restrictions, so many things that you have to do just to get by. And as odd as it seemed, she knew deep down that love was not the way it had used to be.

There would be no knight in shining armour, no prince to sweep her off her feet and protect her from all of the things wrong with the world because these days they were just; men.

They weren't romantics, or dreamers writing prose and wishing on stars for the woman of their dreams to be theirs for a life time. At some stage one night became more than enough to determine love or the lack thereof.

The honesty of sharing moments together had been lost in a haze of lust that meant little to either parties. Pillow talk had become some kind of a cruel joke- she thought of the one night stands she'd had over the years with men that she for some foolish reason had trusted. The way they had looked at her with attempts at understanding while their minds searched for the right words to say that all they wanted was for her to leave.

The give and take had just turned into taking.

There was always someone who wanted something from her and for some reason she couldn't make herself say no. With a smile and gritted teeth she would find herself enduring almost anything. Her skin would crawl at the memories of the earlier, seedier clubs she had performed at. The dusty, dirty gazes of the mangers, club owners and reps that would feel like the world owed them everything- and that night- everything was her.

It was just for the sake of her career or so she had been told but every so often she'd find herself feeling sick about the feeling of strangers hands on her when all she wanted was to be alone. She'd go home and read the fairy tales trying to push aside the things that had happened and the things she had put up with.

But it wouldn't be for much longer- of that she was sure.

Greg Sanders was different- she had sensed it from the moment she had met him. The honesty in his bright brown eyes was compelling, his smile was painfully endearing and the way he nervously spoke to her reminded her of what it felt like to be wanted. But the way he looked at her wasn't the way that men looked at her when she was on stage- it was different.

She felt guilt about her true intentions when he had made love to her that night but he slept she convinced herself that it had been necessary. Perhaps he would forgive her one day- he would see that in the end all she had ever done had been for love.

Greg was a romantic, he was like her- he would understand what she had done of that she was sure.

She had found herself watching him as he dreamt, his body shifting slightly as the sound of his breathing picked up pace, mumblings beneath his breath. He looked beautiful. She had thought as her sleepless eyes cast over his form.

She believed that Greg could be her way out of everything that gone before.


End file.
